


Tony Stark: Pokemon Master

by Ruolumen



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Competition, Gen, Video & Computer Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-25
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 13:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruolumen/pseuds/Ruolumen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony is dragged upstairs for breakfast one morning, he gets caught up in a challenge with Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tony Stark: Pokemon Master

**Author's Note:**

  * For [U_can_tell_he_is_evil_by_the_backwards_A](https://archiveofourown.org/users/U_can_tell_he_is_evil_by_the_backwards_A/gifts).



> Alternate title for this story is "Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better". Please enjoy my first posted fic!

“Damnit!”

Clint Barton’s curse could be heard throughout his floor in Stark Tower. And the floor above his. And the floor below.

By breakfast time an hour later, every one of the Avenger’s, barring Tony who had yet to come up from his lab in two days while working on something “super special top secret”, had heard about Clint’s spectacular loss to Giovanni in his old Pokémon red game.

Where he had gotten it and how he had ever had time to play it while being a secret agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. no one had really bothered to ask, or wanted to know.

It was Steve’s turn to bring Tony upstairs for food, which relieved everyone for a number of reasons. First, he really only came upstairs for Steve so he at least got one meal out of five when they did not eat out (unless he was just that engrossed by a project and even Steve could not talk sense into him). Second, whoever had to cook made extra, because when Tony finally did get around to eating he was always famished and it was good to know how much to cook. Third, for Clint anyway, who did not have to cook until tonight, or tomorrow if they got called away for a save the world mission later, there was time to train his Dewgong, his Gyrados, and the rest of his team (Charmander having been his starter and not the most useful in this fight) to higher levels before food was served.

“Giovanni will not beat me this time,” Clint swore, his thumbs clicking away at little black buttons.

“Who is this Italian that’s beating you and why is he doing it on that pathetic looking purple device?”

Glancing up, Clint saw Tony leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, arms crossed, giving him a most confused look. In two seconds Clint raised said device, then lowered it and went back to playing, immersed.

“Wait, wait,” Tony went on, a smirk sliding across his face as he pushed off the wall and walked closer, inspecting Clint’s toy. “Are you playing that stupid game with the monsters you catch in little balls? The one that was popular over a decade ago and had all those shiny cards? What was it called again?”

“Pokémon,” Clint snapped, insulted at Tony insulting his game. “Yes, I am playing Pokémon, and I will have you know it is still popular. Those cards were an entirely different game and had nothing to do with-“

He stopped, realizing Tony had been goading him and glared at the triumphant smirk gracing the other man’s face before going back to his game.

“So what you’re saying is that you are playing a game designed for prepubescent children on an… abomination of electronics any infant could use and still losing?” Tony had to ask, while everyone else ate their food in silence. At some point someone set food in front of Tony so he picked at it while waiting for a reply.

“Snark all you want, Stark, but there is no way you could do any better,” Clint retorted matter-of-factly, confident in that, at least.

“Oh ho,” Tony chuckled, sitting next to the archer and peering over his shoulder. “Is that a challenge I hear, Barton?”

With a smirk of his own Clint handed over his Gameboy Color to Tony. “Damn right it was. Think you can handle it?”

After looking the device over for a few seconds Tony turned it off and then back on. “It’s on.”

Clint knew Tony did not need his permission to delete his old game, so with a self-satisfied grin he walked out of the room.

The others watched all of this before also leaving, deciding it was not worth their effort to babysit the boys when they had better things to do.

The next thing anyone heard was, “Damn Barton, these graphics are absolutely shitty!”

Clint could be heard snickering in the living room.

 

Over the next few hours, Tony moved to the couch, but did not return to his lab. The sound of button mashing could be heard, along with a few muttered comments, but little else while Tony played his (because Clint had let him pick it up, it was his now and no, you cannot touch it, thank you very much) new game.

“I can give you a nickname? I’ll call you Pepper, you little red fire breather.”

“Damn straight you give me pokéballs.”

“Thank you, old man, for explaining the painfully obvious. From now on I’ll call you Steve.”

And a little later… “Die, you psychotic bitch, die!”

Among other things.

By dinner that night, when Tony was still on the couch after having skipped lunch (no surprises there), Bruce decided enough was enough.

 

“Tony, you do realize you’ve been playing that game for ten hours now? Clint’s cooking dinner.”

“So?” He didn’t even look up.

“Didn’t you have an important project you were working on?” Bruce asked, trying to get his friend to put the game he had been playing all day down.

“I’m almost done! I’m on my rival. Beat down the elite four! Ha! Not so elite! Just one more battle! Way ahead of Clint’s time too! Then I’ll work again. When I finish this one game and can rub it in his face.”

A small clatter of noise on the table in front of them caused both men to look up.

“You think that’s the only game there is, Stark?” Clint asked, a vicious grin spreading across his face.

“Aren’t you supposed to be cooking?” Bruce asked, blinking at their blonde friend, ignoring his shit-eating grin.

“Oh, I’ll get back to it,” was the response, “right after I do this.”

With that Clint lifted the bag he had dropped on the table and dumped its contents onto Tony’s lap.

The self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist stared down at the small plastic games now in his lap, and groaned. “How many versions of this stupid Poké- game are there?” he whined. “I still have fifteen of these things to catch, let alone beating the damn champion!”

“Thirteen original games, four remakes, and one version that only came out in Japan.” Clint picked up a small plastic green rectangle that looked like the red one Tony had been playing. “This one. It’s all in Japanese.”

Tony looked at the game in his hand, the one in Clint’s, the rest in his lap, and right before he could have a breakdown over how long it would be before he got back to his lab, he looked Clint in the eye and matched his shit-eating grin with one of his own. “I will defeat every record you have ever set on these games!”

The challenge was on.

 

As Clint went back to the kitchen, he slipped Natasha twenty bucks as she smirked at him.

“I called it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”


End file.
